Dealing With the Aftermath
Several pastors and Christian leaders were kind enough to talk to me confidentially about their experiences with interpersonal betrayal. Without knowing what each other had said, their stories shared three common threads.
First, those who broke off fellowship did so in anger because the person who shared the story with me—in this case their pastors—had refused to take some action on their behalf. The break wasn’t so much over what they had done but what they had left undone. For example, the pastor had not agreed with the intensity of their concerns, had not been transparent enough, hadn’t fired or hired someone, hadn’t given a specific sermon, or hadn’t spoken out against what the person leaving thought was an important issue in the church, community, culture or country. Those who left did not get the bulwark from their church against what they saw as the world shifting beneath them.
Second, while some families quietly faded away, most had one conversation with someone in leadership, which would be both the first and final time they raised their concerns, making it clear that they had already made up their minds to go. As one pastor framed it, you could tell from the beginning of the meeting that it would entail face-to-face conflict rather than shoulder to shoulder comradery meant to solve the issue. There was simply no attempt by those leaving to follow the process of biblical reconciliation found in Matthew 5 and 18.
Third, and perhaps most painfully, those who left didn’t see their issue as a disagreement over political ideology or non-creedal theology but reflected something deeper, namely the pastor’s faith, competence and character. The fact that the pastor didn’t see the same problems was evidence enough of their shortcomings, lack of boldness or vision. Some of those who were leaving were set on burning their church down, convinced that their pastor’s refusal to honor their request was evidence of some deeper rot in their church. Often, these soon-to-be ex-friends were more than willing to encourage others to follow them out the door.
The pain, uncertainty and anxiety of such rebukes and abandonment, especially with no shared reality, can indeed be profoundly traumatizing as they not only affect the heart but also lead to an existential crisis of second-guessing one’s sense of reality. Pastors didn’t just lose their friends, they no longer felt they knew themselves fully.
God has made us relational people with a level of fluidity between “we and I” among those closest to us. We understand ourselves, in part, by the company we keep. When those closest to us unexpectedly exit our lives, we have to rebuild our identity, or how we think about ourselves vis-à-vis others. With their friends’ departures, pastors have had to recalibrate the very real cost of spiritual intimacy in doing life together.
They also have to rebuild their self-confidence, often wondering how they could have been so clueless about the people with whom they had shared their most private selves. To a person, those I talked to replayed different scenarios in their heads, wondering what they could have done differently to maintain the friendships and keep people in fellowship. It’s one thing to regret doing something, but there are many roads to take when evaluating not taking an action.
Should they have just given in and done what was asked of them? Could they have done something else? Were their positions, processes and boundaries not clear enough? Should they have seen the writing on the wall earlier? Are they discipling their flock well? Did they share something in confidence with these newly former friends they deeply regret?
For people who love seeing their impact on lives changed through the gospel of Jesus Christ, the uncertainty caused by these events profoundly affected their day-to-day flourishing. To say that they experienced trauma, and more specifically betrayal trauma, is not an overstatement.
Feeling Fragile
Trust takes time to build but can be shattered by a single event. People become trustworthy over time when they demonstrate three characteristics, the first two being competency and integrity. Because trustworthy people know what they are doing and behave in ways consistent with their moral framework, their actions are consistent and thus predictable. We trust them because there are no surprises.
The third attribute is benevolence, which is more than mere kindness. Trustworthy people have the backs of others for no personal benefit. Without benevolence in times of need, seemingly trustworthy people can shatter the trust that might have taken years to build. For each person I interviewed, the absence of benevolence from their friends, more so than a lack of competence or integrity, was the attribute that crushed them.
When believers break trust, it not only rends relationships but emaciates the body of Christ when we no longer feel safe enough to be vulnerable in ways we thought were God-honoring in the past. Vulnerability is a two-edged sword. Social science research shows that being vulnerable with those we trust can lead to greater life satisfaction, flourishing and feeling safe with others. However, when trust is broken, vulnerability can have the opposite effect, making us more fragile, fearful and even depressed.